


冬桜 (winter sakura)

by sanhascroissant



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: A heck of a lot of prose, Angst, Eventual Implied Renjun/Jeno, Hurt No Comfort, Lee Jeno-centric, M/M, Musicians, Sad Ending, Secret Crush, Terminal Illnesses, Violinist Jaemin, especially sorry to jaemin and renjun, is is slowburn if nothing ever really happens?, pianist jeno, very sorry to eveyr single character in this none of you deserve it, your lie in april au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-19
Updated: 2019-11-19
Packaged: 2021-02-13 04:56:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,319
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21488698
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sanhascroissant/pseuds/sanhascroissant
Summary: It’s a beautiful spring morning when Jeno first sees him, the cherry blossoms in full bloom. His violin is shining in the early morning sunlight as he plays, a smile gracing his lips. His body twists with the movement of the bow, light and carefree.So the spring of Na Jaemin begins quietly, like the feeling of the sunlight on aching and old bones, like the first snowmelt, like a brilliant sunrise.
Relationships: Lee Jeno/Na Jaemin
Comments: 19
Kudos: 46





	冬桜 (winter sakura)

It’s a beautiful spring morning when Jeno first sees him, the cherry blossoms in full bloom. His violin is shining in the early morning sunlight as he plays, a smile gracing his lips. His body twists with the movement of the bow, light and carefree. 

Jeno closes his eyes and he can see the sheet music in his mind’s eye, the echo of a time long past. He’s forced to open his eyes and watch him as he sways, the bow pulling along the strings as the music is brought to life, the notes lifting off the page and flying to Jeno like old friends, and for the first time in a long while they call to him, beg for him to join them again. 

His interest is ignited, his heart set alight at the way the violinist pulls the bow along the strings, the soft pink of his sweater matching the cherry blossoms swirling down around him. He plays a final note, the sound echoing through the park, and Jeno feels himself move forwards, a desperate desire to know this boy moving him without consent.

For the first time in years, a familiar itch grows in Jeno’s fingertips. The itch to play, to feel the music flow through him, to press the keys under his fingers and feel as though he has created something beautiful, something golden that cannot be taken away.

The violinist looks his way and smiles, and so the spring of Na Jaemin begins quietly, like the feeling of the sunlight on aching and old bones, like the first snowmelt, like a brilliant sunrise.

“I’m Na Jaemin,” the violinist says. “I can see you watching me! Come and say hello!”

Jeno stumbles forward, catching his bag before it begins to fall off of his shoulder, and thinks to himself,_ Is this what fate feels like? I can already feel myself beginning to change._

❀

The practice room is empty, the light streaming in through the windows, and Jeno sits at the piano alone, his eyes fixed on the sheet music ahead of him. He is motionless, the afternoon sunlight glancing off the burnished cherry wood of the piano and making it glow golden. 

Jeno frowns and places his hands on the keys to play. The moment his fingertips meet ivory the sun is sucked out of the room, plunging him into darkness, into the depths of the sea. He struggles to come up for air, tearing his hands from the piano and hugging them into himself.

The room is quiet but for the sound of his breathing, dust stirring lazily in the sun that drips like gold from the windows, running along the hardwood floor. He closes his eyes and breathes in the smell of old paper and the lemon floor cleaner that the janitors have always used, the familiarity aching. He thinks of the hours spent here, playing through piece after piece, the way his music used to dance and float through the air like bubbles of sunshine, bursting in his ears and soaking him with warmth. 

Now the lid of the piano is cold as he shuts it, running his finger along the wood and coming away with dust. He stands, the scraping of the bench loud in the empty room and turns to leave, pulling his bag over his shoulder in defeat. He glances back at the piano and sighs, shaking his head.

It’s a goodbye. Jeno leaves the room, the door swinging shut and obscuring the piano from view. _The piano has no place in my life anymore. _He tries to believe he won’t be back here again tomorrow afternoon to try again. 

_I’m moving forward, _he thinks, and it’s a mantra, repeated so many times over the past year._ For myself. I’m moving forward. _

Even now, it is tinged with the hopelessness of a lie.

❀

“So, you’re a pianist?” Jeno turns from his locker, and there’s the violinist from the park, Na Jaemin, in all his reckless glory, school uniform neat, the harsh light from the florescent hallway lightbulbs glancing off the frames of his glasses. 

“Yeah,” Jeno mumbles. “How’d you find out?” 

Jaemin grins and flicks his hair out of his eyes, adjusting his backpack on his shoulders. “That’s what Donghyuck said.” 

“Oh.”

Lee Donghyuck, Jeno’s best friend, gorgeous, with a smile that could outshine the sun. 

“He’s pretty you know,” Jaemin says, leaning a little closer, almost conspiratorially, like Jeno isn’t painfully aware of Donghyuck’s beauty, especially now, when he feels his heart sink. 

“I know,” Jeno says, eyes flickering downwards away from Jaemin’s eager ones. Jaemin pouts and leans down into Jeno’s line of sight, eyes bright and smile wide, unapologetic and welcoming. Jeno gives up and lets himself look into Jaemin’s eyes, and they sparkle with mischief and something else. But maybe he’s deluding himself, and it’s just the unnatural lighting reflecting off Jaemin’s dark irises.

“Listen Lee Jeno, I need an accompanist. I think you’d be great.” 

Jeno reacts unthinkingly, straightening his back in horror and taking a step back from Jaemin, who blinks, eyes widening innocently.

“No,” Jeno says. “I don’t play anymore. Not for anyone.”

Piano is a long lost love, swept away on the wings of his mother’s desperate desire for fame and glory, lost to her anger and violent outbursts from when he placed lower than first, and now when his fingers rest over the keys he sinks. The music that he used to love so much, the music that he had once thought so close to him, nearly in his grasp, the music that used to carry him into the air on a stream of liquid gold — that music is lost to him forever.

Jaemin takes a cautious step towards him, closing the distance that Jeno created between them. He gently reaches out his hand to rest lightly on Jeno’s arm, tugging at his sleeve, eyes imploring. 

“Please?” Jeno feels like the air has been sucked out of the room, and it’s only now that he notices the emptiness of the hallways, that he hears the silence apart from himself and Jaemin, as though they’re the only two that exist in the world at this moment. 

“Come hear me play. For real, not just in a park. I want you to be my accompanist, and after you hear me, I promise you’ll want to be my accompanist too.”

“Jaemin, I don’t think —”

“_Please_.” His voice is almost a whisper, and his fingers are still clutching Jeno’s sleeve. The silence is crushing as Jeno looks into his eyes, and to his own shock, he hears himself answer.

“Okay. I’ll go to hear you play, and then I’ll decide.”

Jaemin’s smile makes the lie worth it. 

❀

Jeno goes to Na Jaemin’s concert like he promised, his best friends on each arm. Renjun and Donghyuck settle into their seats beside Jeno, and as the lights dim, Na Jaemin walks onstage and Lee Jeno’s life changes forever.

Silence settles over the audience, the crowd barely daring to breathe as Jaemin lifts his bow, stage lights glancing off the polished wood. He sets horsehair against metal and pulls out a shining vibrato, Jeno’s heartstrings vibrating as though Jaemin had set his bow against them rather than his violin.

Jaemin smiles, eyes falling shut as the bow begins to truly dance along the strings, fingers agile as they press down on the fingerboard. Jeno knows the piece that Jaemin is playing, but if he hadn’t checked the program beforehand, he would never have known. It’s music like Jeno has never heard it. Jeno has always only read music.

Jaemin is writing his own story on the stage.

The audience sits transfixed, eyes glued to the boy who stands tall on the stage. He doesn’t stand still like a concert violinist should, but moves about, jumps on light feet along with the music, and Jeno is entranced. He can see Renjun and Donghyuck on either side, eyes wide and glowing with the light from the stage, unable to look away.

Jaemin switches from bright, fast notes with interspersed pizzicato to long, sweeping legato, tied across measures, drawing them all into the tones. Jeno feels himself fall from pitch to pitch, and he wants to close his eyes so he can take it all in, but Jaemin himself is too captivating, cherry wood of his violin shining, eyes glowing and body swaying. 

The music is swept across the silence like paint across a blank canvas, satisfying and smooth, all-encompassing. Jeno feels transported, soul freed by the notes, carried out above the hall, cherry blossoms swirling and spring breeze on his cheeks, mind filled by peace. 

Suddenly, it is over, Jaemin’s final note drawn out and ended when he lifts his bow from the strings. The sound echoes through the hall for a moment longer in the silence as he lowers his violin, and for a long, long moment there is silence, the audience stunned.

Finally, someone brings their hands together, and the auditorium explodes into applause like a thunderclap, the audience surging to their feet. Renjun and Donghyuck are among them. Jeno looks down at his arms and they are covered with gooseflesh, the haunting memory of Jaemin’s music coursing through his veins and igniting his senses, and he has to get out of here. No other performance matters, how could any other performance matter after Jaemin’s? 

Jeno stands and he leaves the auditorium, clambering past already standing bodies. He vaguely hears Renjun and Donghyuck exclaiming in surprise and starting to come after him. He ignores them, getting to the aisles and rushing to the back of the theatre, to the lobby, escaping from the deafening roar just as Jeno registers Jaemin bowing for a final time, million watt smile stretched across his features.

In the lobby, he collapses onto one of the many plush benches scattered against the wall and breathes in deep, air rushing to fill his lungs. He lets his eyes fall shut and allows himself to remember the rush of blood in his veins, the feeling of flying, the soaring melody, the sheer _joy_ radiating from Jaemin’s countenance as he played. 

Suddenly the doors to the auditorium burst open and his best friends are at his side, worried looks on their faces. 

“Jeno! Are you alright?” He hears Renjun sit beside him on the bench, and Donghyuck’s rapidly approaching footsteps.

Jeno breathes and opens his eyes to meet Renjun’s, brimming with concern. “Yeah, I’m okay. I just…” he trails off and leans back against the wall, eyes directed up to the ceiling. “I had just forgotten that music could feel like that.”

Renjun smiles and pats his arms reassuringly. “It was incredible,” he says softly. “It felt like my heart was ready to fly out of my ribcage.”

“Exactly,” Donghyuck interjects, leaning against the wall on the other side of Jeno, the bench just a little too small for him to sit down with them. “It was like…” He gestures to his chest, at a loss. “Like… bubbling up inside of me, overflowing.” 

Jeno and Renjun nod, agreeing, and there’s silence for a moment before Donghyuck says, “And this guy, Na Jaemin, he asked you to accompany him?”

Jeno sighs and leans forward to rub his eyes against the palms of his hands. “Yeah.”

“You have to, oh my god,” Donghyuck says, eyes wide. 

Jeno shakes his head. “No way. I said I was done with piano, and I meant it.”

“Jeno,” Renjun reaches out, eyes gentle as he places a hand on Jeno’s arm, pleading. “You go to the practice room every day. This guy is clearly incredible, maybe you should give it a try.”

Jeno’s heart shakes in his chest, Renjun’s words tugging at his heartstrings, his friends honest hope very nearly fooling him into trying again.

“No,” Jeno says, resolute. “I said I was done with piano, and I am. Not even an incredible player like Na Jaemin can change my mind about that.”

❀

The next day at school, Jeno notices that Jaemin sits behind him in one of his classes, and he can’t help but ask, “How do you play like that? Like there’s nothing else at all in the world?”

Jaemin’s eyes sparkle. “Music is freedom, Jeno,” He says. “It can take you anywhere, wherever you want to go. Why would I need anything else in the world?”

Jeno thinks it’s a beautiful answer.

“So, will you accompany me?” Jaemin asks, voice hopeful. 

Jeno shakes his head no, and tries to ignore the way Jaemin’s face falls. 

_I’m moving forward, for myself,_ he repeats again, for the thousandth time. _For myself. Moving forward._

He tries to ignore the fact that he feels more trapped in the past than ever._ Playing piano won’t solve the problem,_ he tries to convince himself. _Come on Lee Jeno. Move on. _

❀

They’re walking home past the beach late at night a few weeks after the concert, and somehow Renjun convinces him to go stand in the waves. His eyes sparkle like the stars in the sky, smile glowing, and Jeno can’t say no to him. Renjun is like the ocean, crashing against the shore in an endless push and pull with the moon. 

So they sit on the bench and take off their shoes and socks, rushing down to the shoreline. The sand is cool against Jeno’s toes and he squints into the wind to see Renjun ahead of him, smile wide, hair mussed by the wind. He turns back and laughs at Jeno from afar, waving him on, and Jeno picks up the pace until he’s side by side with Renjun, the waves rushing up to meet their ankles. 

The moonlight shines on Renjun’s face when Jeno glances at him out of the corner of his eye. Renjun’s eyes are closed, a small smile on his face. The pants of his school uniform are rolled up, slightly damp from splashing waves, shoes dangling from one hand, blazer stuffed inside his backpack and shirt coming untucked. It makes him look smaller than usual, and something stirs in Jeno’s chest at the sight. He looks away as the water rushes about his ankles, silky and cool, and Renjun speaks into the quiet of the night.

“You should accompany Jaemin.” Jeno looks to him, shocked. Renjun has turned to face him, and when Jeno looks into his eyes it as though they are endless, deep wells. Renjun has always been his best friend, the person that Jeno understands the most, but there is some undertone in Renjun’s words, some pain there, that Jeno can’t identify.

“Why?” 

Renjun smiles, and his eyes reflect the purple and blue sky flecked with stars as he tilts his head to the left. “I know you better than anyone, Jeno,” he says sadly. “You want to do it. In fact, you _need_ to do it, to try to play again.”

The air is knocked from Jeno’s lungs. He blinks, confused and afraid, but Renjun just looks back at him gently, eyes kind and understanding and oh so very _Renjun_. 

“I can’t help reconcile you with the piano,” Renjun says, shrugging and looking out to sea. “Neither can Donghyuck.” He looks down, shoulders drooping for a moment before he looks up, steely eyed and determined. “But maybe Jaemin can. You deserve that chance, Jeno. The chance to get the love of your life back.”

Jeno shakes his head, shrinking into himself. He tries to focus on the feeling of wet sand between his toes and the cool ocean breeze on his face, the constellations stitched into the fabric of the night sky, but Renjun is larger than all of those things, takes up more space in Jeno’s heart, and he can’t ignore him.

“I can’t,” Jeno finally says, small.

“You can,” Renjun says. He says it with unshakable confidence, like he has never doubted Jeno for a moment. “You can and you _should_.”

They’re silent for a moment, the wind whistling by their ears. Then, because Jeno can’t help but be honest with Renjun —

“I’m scared.”

Renjun smiles, eyes sad and voice dripping with sympathy. “I know. You should still try. For yourself.” Renjun looks down, shy, and says quieter, “For me. I want you to be happy, Jeno. I lo—” He stops and starts again, cheeks turning red. His voice is abashed when he speaks again. “I care about you a lot.”

Jeno thinks about the piano, of Renjun’s plea and the joy in Jaemin’s heart that was always so clear to see when he played. He looks up at Renjun, the night sky endless, the sea dark and deep as Renjun’s eyes. 

“Okay. I’ll play for him.”

❀

He’s in the practice room again, and it’s midnight, the moonlight streaming through the window and casting cool light across the smooth black of the piano, making the skin on the back of Jeno’s hands glow stark white, as though he could see his bones.

Jaemin left an hour or two ago, eyelids drooping shut, but Jeno knows that he won’t be able to sleep — his house is always too quiet, the shadows lurking around corners when he gets home too late. So he stays at school in the practice room, the curtains flung wide, and tries to force the music to come.

It’s disjointed, too loud and then too soft, all wrong. The music doesn’t dance, it trips over its own feet and screams into the silence, and Jeno tears his fingers from the keys, desperate for the sound to stop. 

He sighs, and through a crack in the window he can hear the late night breeze blowing, the curtains rustling and feeling of coolness against his skin. He lets his eyes fall shut as he leans his forehead against the top of the piano. He turns opens his eyes to look out the window, seeing the darkness draped across the school’s field, the sky alight with stars. 

For a moment he lets himself bask in the silence, but then he’s straightening again, lifting his fingers to place them back on the keys. He will do this. For Jaemin. For Renjun.

Maybe even for himself.

He breathes in deep and begins the piece again.For a moment, it seems to be going better. He’s able to hear the music, the notes not too forced, beginning to soar above the melody line, free and flowing, a way that Jeno knows will compliment Jaemin’s style, but just as he’s starting to enjoy himself, he feels a hand gripping his shoulder, nails biting into his skin through his shirt. He cries out, but he doesn’t dare take his fingers off the keys, knows that it will be so much worse if he does. 

_Don’t stray from the sheet music, Jeno. You have to win. Don’t you love me?_ His mother’s voice is haunting, and Jeno feels himself begin to fall through the darkness, fingertips glued to the keys, heart shaking in his chest. 

He plays, following the beat of the metronome that was planted in his chest so long ago, and slowly he settles, the hand on his shoulder loosening as the falling turns into meaningless floating. 

He drifts into a memory, settling down on the piano bench beside a smaller version of himself, a warmer, kinder mother standing beside the piano, and Jeno knows that this is from a long, long time ago. Back when his mother was healthy, and the sun shone in her smile. Back before pill bottles lined the kitchen counter, and they had to buy a ramp for the front steps of the house. 

_That’s it Jeno_, his mother says, voice now melodious rather than grating. She leans over his shoulder, resting her hand on top of his, and Jeno feels tears spring to his eyes as he watches her guide his hand across the keys, so many years ago. 

_The piano is your friend,_ she says, looking at the younger version of him with stars in her eyes, pride oozing from every word. _You wouldn’t hit a friend, would you_? _Don’t abuse the piano. Treat it with kindness, and you will receive kindness in return._

Jeno opens his eyes, and his hands are resting in his lap. Through the window the moon shines serenely over the landscape, glinting along the keys, and Jeno considers his mother’s words, so long forgotten. 

_The piano is my friend_, he thinks to himself. _Why am I treating it as though it were my enemy_? 

He breathes in deep and closes his eyes, lifting his fingers to the keys once again.

_Let’s make beautiful music together, my friend. I’m sorry for forgetting. _

This time, the song comes as easily as breathing, and for the first time in a long time, Jeno feels free. 

❀

The day of the competition, Jeno can feel electricity buzzing just underneath his skin, stomach filled with angry butterflies, desperately trying to escape. He slides his hands, clammy and warm, along the smooth fabric of his dress pants, the tie around his neck feeling as though it may choke him. His eyes dart nervously around and fall on the piano that stands at center stage, large and imposing, a black smear against the light golden wood of the stage floor itself.

Beside Jeno, Jaemin seems utterly at peace, his violin held loosely but the neck in his hands. His suit jacket is perfect, not a single wrinkle to be seen, dark brown hair styled up and falling over his forehead in a sort of comma shape. He’s breathtaking, the stage lights reflected in his eyes. 

“Are you ready?” He asks, turning to Jeno with a smile.

“I don’t think I’ll ever be ready,” Jeno says, far more honest than he had intended. Jaemin’s smile melts, going soft. 

“That’s okay,” He says, his free hand coming to rest on Jeno’s bicep, squeezing reassuringly. “All that matters is that you’re trying. Above all, try your best to enjoy yourself. Who cares that it’s a competition? I just want to make music with you by my side.”

The words floor Jeno. _Who cares that it’s a competition?_ Jaemin should care. He’s the one competing, Jeno’s just backup. _I care that it’s a competition, _Jeno worries. _I could fail you._

Jaemin just beams at him, clearly unaware of the conflict running through Jeno’s head, the desire to let it all go and have fun warring with the anxiety of ruining Jaemin’s chances at winning thanks to his carelessness, as their names are called. 

“Let’s do our best, Lee Jeno,” Jaemin whispers, all smiles. “Together, we’ll knock them out of the park.” 

Jeno weakly does his best to smile, and then Jaemin is pulling him out of the wings in front of the crowd again for the first time in forever, and the lights are blinding. Jeno blinks, adjusting, and settles at the piano as Jaemin lifts his violin to his shoulder. Jeno takes out his music, placing it where he can see it, but deep down he knows that there’s no need — hours of practice have ingrained the notes into his memory — it’s paranoia that makes him bring it out. 

Jaemin looks over his shoulder at Jeno, a silent question in his eyes. Jeno nods, settling his fingers over the keys in preparation. So Jaemin lifts his bow to the strings, and begins.

It starts out alright — Jaemin has the introduction, and it goes flawlessly. When it’s Jeno’s turn to come in, he does, but the stage lights immediately go dark, Jaemin vanishing from his sight, his hearing gone. 

Jeno flounders in the darkness, the silence overpowering, trying his very best to play from memory, for Jaemin’s sake. For a while he thinks it works, but suddenly he can’t even feel his own fingers on the keys, so even as he presses down desperately in a memorized order, he feels lost, out of place. 

He feels rather than hears his gasps for breath, the air tearing through his throat to his lungs, chest rising and falling in fear as the darkness and silence continue to consume him. Finally, he can take it to longer, and he forces his way to the surface, pulling his hands close to his chest. 

The stage lights blink back into existence, shining bright on his face, Jaemin’s eyes concerned as they meet his, bow frozen in place. Jeno shakes his head desperately, motioning for Jaemin to go on. An accompanist failure won’t disqualify him, he can still win. 

But despite the opportunity to keep playing and keep his score, Jaemin lowers the bow entirely, leaving the front of the stage in order to stand by Jeno’s side. His eyes locked on Jeno’s, he slowly, deliberately raises his bow again, and starts the piece again. 

For a moment, Jeno sits in shock, but then he remembers Jaemin’s voice, the smile in his eyes as he had said, _Who cares that it’s a competition? I just want to make music with you by my side. _Jeno thinks it’s only fair that he at least try to grant that wish.

He tries again, eyes closed. 

This time, the piano sings, his thoughts consumed only by the sound of Jaemin’s violin and his warm presence beside Jeno at the bench. Their two melody lines twist and dance, intertwining at times, other times supporting one another’s sound, and Jeno has never loved music as much as he loves it in this moment, flying freely beside Jaemin. 

The piece ends with them together, playing one long drawn out note in tandem, and Jeno’s heartstrings thrum with Jaemin’s, the two of them connected, intrinsically, by the music. 

It feels like victory as his eyes shoot open, meeting with Jaemin’s own ecstatic ones to the tune of thundering applause. Even if they’ve been disqualified, it doesn’t matter. All that matters now is Jaemin and the beautiful, heart-wrenching music that they made together, as one. 

But then the light in Jaemin’s eyes flickers, and Jeno cries out in horror as Jaemin crumples to the stage like a marionette with its strings cut, and the stage lights go dark.

❀

The doctors tell a worried Jeno, Donghyuck, and Renjun that it isn't a big deal, nothing to worry too much about. Just a lack of sleep and nutrition, pretty standard for a high-achieving young man like Jaemin. Still, Jeno’s heart very nearly beats out of his chest with worry, and something about the whole situation just doesn’t feel quite right.

He’s still dressed in his suit, the tie messy and undone, having rushed straight from the performance after Jaemin’s ambulance with Renjun and Donghyuck, both also dressed up for the occasion. They’d had to sit in the waiting room for a few hours, Jeno leaning on Renjun’s shoulder and finding comfort in his kind eyes and understanding hugs as Donghyuck paced the length of the room, fiddling with his hands, eyes tormented by worry.

They go in to see Jaemin, and he looks so small against the white sheets and the baby blue hospital gown he’s been forced to wear, an IV pumping fluids into his arm. The room is filled by the sound of the heart monitor, the steady beeping that reminds them that Jaemin really is alright. 

“Jaemin, you have to take better care of yourself,” Renjun says, the first one to fall by his bedside and take Jaemin’s hand in his. “You scared us half to death!”

Jaemin laughs, but it’s so weak it scares Jeno, and he trades a look with Donghyuck. “I’m sorry, Junnie,” Jaemin says, eyes soft as he reaches up and pushes Renjun’s messy hair back into place. “I never meant to scare any of you. I’ll try not to do it again in the future, alright?”

“Good,” Renjun says, voice quiet, and Jeno finds the courage to approach. 

“Jaemin,” he says, oh so quietly. “What were you thinking, not eating and sleeping enough before a performance?”

“I don’t think I was,” Jaemin admits, smiling softly as he closes his eyes and leans back on the pillow. “I won’t make that mistake again.”

“Good,” Jeno says, and the rest of the visit is passed making small talk, four voices talking over and around one another as the day passes into night. 

At one point, Jeno leaves to get snacks form a vending machine down the hallway with Renjun, and when they come back, Jeno pauses in the doorway. Renjun runs into his back. 

“What’s going on?” Renjun leans around him, and Jeno sees him out of the corner of his eye, pity growing on his features as he looks at Jeno, the light from the crack in the doorway shining on his face.

Just inside, Donghyuck is standing close to Jaemin’s side as possible, his hands clasped in Jaemin’s as they talk, and Jeno reminds himself to remember his place — Jaemin isn’t meant to be someone he can love. He’s confusing Jaemin with the music that he’s brought back into Jeno’s life, and the love Jaemin has for Donghyuck is something beautiful. He shouldn’t feel jealous, shouldn’t get in the way of that. 

So he doesn’t. He bites his tongue, and later that night when they’re leaving the hospital, his arm in Renjun’s, and Donghyuck says,

“Jaemin wanted me to tell you, after we left — he sighed you up for a solo piano competition in a few days. He thinks you should do it.”

Jeno sighs, breath frosty in the night air, and he can’t help but think that he should. He has plenty of memorized pieces, and he can’t let the music slip away from him now. 

“I’ll do it,” Jeno says, at long last. Renjun tugs on his arm, smiling as Jeno meets his eyes. “But I’m only doing it because of everything that’s happened,” Jeno continues, lying a little as he meets eyes with Donghyuck. “I want to make Jaemin happy, and if entering a piano competition will make him happy, then I’ll do it.”

“It will make him happy,” Donghyuck says, straightforwardly. “But not because he wants to see you play piano. Because he knows that playing music will make you happy, and that’s all he really wants.”

“That boy cares a lot for you, just like you do for him,” Renjun says, wistfully. Jeno turns to him, and he just shakes his head, smiling. “Don’t look at me like that. It’s true.”

“It’s not,” Jeno insists. “He likes someone else.”

He sees Renjun and Donghyuck share a skeptical look, but Jeno ignores it. 

_Remember your place. Jaemin’s not meant to be yours._

❀

The night before the piano competition, Jeno can’t sleep. He calls Donghyuck from an empty field deep in the park and despite the late hour and his strict parents, Donghyuck comes, a puffy jacket over his pajamas and a smile like the sun, even in the dead of night.

“Hey there, piano man,” Donghyuck says fondly, settling beside him on the grass. “Why are you awake at this hour?”

“Couldn’t sleep,” Jeno mutters, lying down and looking up at the inky black of the sky. He feels Donghyuck lie down beside him, the grass tickling his cheek as shifts just a bit to make more space beside him. 

“What, are you scared for tomorrow?”

“Scared, me?” Jeno smiles, terrified. “No way.”

Donghyuck snorts, because Donghyuck knows Jeno, _knows_ that he’s terrified, knows that the thought of playing for an audience alone again makes his blood turn to ice in his veins, knows that he’s only doing it for Na Jaemin, who is bound to his hospital bed and won’t even be there to hear it. 

“Donghyuck,” Jeno says, clearing his throat. 

“Yes?” 

He exhales into the night, and finally, he voices the thoughts that have consumed him ever since Jaemin collapsed on the stage beside him and was rushed away, ever since he saw Jaemin, too alive to be lying against the white of the hospital pillow. “Do you think Jaemin is a lot sicker than he’s letting on? That he’s going to die?”

Donghyuck sucks in a breath, and Jeno feels his heart sink. But then, Donghyuck says, “I think he’s sicker than he’s saying, but no. He’ll live. He has to.” 

“What makes you say that?” Jeno says, turning to look at him. Donghyuck’s eyes are dark in the night,flashing with the light from the nearest streetlamp. 

“The reason I know Jaemin will live is the same reason I know that tomorrow, you’ll do fine,” Donghyuck says finally, his breath hanging frozen in the air. He turns, meeting Jeno’s eyes. “Stars need the darkness to shine, after all. You’ll make it through, the both of you.”

Jeno sighs, turning his eyes back to the heavens. 

“I hope so.”

❀

From where Renjun sits in the audience, he can see the stage fairly well, the sleek grand piano against the blood red curtains, the light shining harshly down. The audience murmurs, the soft noise muffling the sound of Renjun’s heart running laps in his chest, mitigating the anxiety that claws at his throat. 

He knows how much this means to Jeno, how long it has been since he’s stood alone on the stage, the crushing pressure and guilt he feels when he sits at the piano bench. In a way, Renjun hates Jaemin for making Jeno go through this all again, but Jaemin is a musician himself — something Renjun fundamentally is not, and no matter how his heart breaks, he will never understand that part of Jeno the way that Jaemin does. 

The lights dim into darkness and Renjun’s fingers tighten around his program as he sits down in his seat alone, the wood of the armrest cool to the touch. He closes his eyes and breathes in deep, snapping them open again when a smattering of polite applause tells him that Jeno is coming onstage, the first contestant in the second half. 

_Please. Please, god, let him do well. _

Renjun watches on the edge of his seat as Jeno takes a seat at the piano and for one long, terrifying second, does nothing at all, staring down at the keys as though they may come alive and bite his fingers if he tries to play them. 

He closes his eyes and breathes, and Renjun swears he can hear it, even from the very back of the hall where he’s sitting. Jeno’s fingers rise and come to rest over the keys, and he begins to play.

At first, it is beautifully cold, and Renjun knows that if he knew anything about music, he would be able to see the paper in his mind’s eye, the notes marching on like dutiful soldiers. He may not know how to read sheet music, but he knows Jeno, knows him like the skin on the back of his hand, knows him like nobody else, and this is how Jeno plays, how Jeno has always played. He can feel the audience relax around him. 

Renjun sighs in relief, and his heart begins to slow in his chest, eyes falling shut in order to appreciate the music. _Lee Jeno has returned to the stage._

Renjun’s relief was to be short lived. Jeno’s fingers begin to fly across the keys, the notes halting, stopping and starting. What had been smooth is now rough, the notes that were once graceful are becoming forceful and out of place, and when Renjun looks up at the stage in panic, his knuckles going white on the armrests, Jeno’s eyes are wild, his hair falling in his eyes, and Renjun doesn’t have to ask to know that he’s drowning, wildly thrashing, trying to stay afloat.

Renjun watches in horror as Jeno tears his fingers from the keys and grips his thighs, shaking. Something glistens in the massive spotlight as it falls from Jeno’s eyes to his lap, and Renjun feels his heart jump into his throat.

Jeno is bent over and the audience is silent. Renjun can feel their shock, and whispers begin to spread through the hall, like a virus, crawling up Renjun’s skin and chilling him from the inside out, the desire to tell them all to be quiet blooming in his chest. 

Renjun stands, tears in his eyes, but as he watches, Jeno draws a silent breath, and straightens at the bench. His fingers rest lightly on top of the keys, and the audience is stunned to silence, settling back in their chairs. He’s been disqualified, but he still wants to play?

The piece begins again, but any of the previous beauty, however cold, has been lost. Jeno’s eyes are screwed tightly shut, and Renjun wishes he could do the same, his heart near bursting with sadness for him as the music that Jeno once loved so much betrays him, the notes refusing to fall into place like they once did. 

Jeno stops again, breaths ragged. Tears stream down his face as they do Renjun’s in equal measure, but the audience can’t seem to bear to clap and remove him from the stage, so his breaths echo in the quiet, the silence permeating through the hall like a storm cloud, dampening the spirits of all present. Renjun closes his eyes at long last, tears spilling over even as he does, his very soul aching on Jeno’s behalf.

_That poor boy, _the audience murmurs to one another. _After everything that happened with his mother…_

Then a miracle occurs. Renjun hears a single note echoing through the hall as though it has taken flight. He feels chills creep up his arms, his heart shuddering in his chest. He snaps his eyes open and Jeno has straightened in his seat, a single finger pressed down into ivory. He is no longer crying, the light tracing the tracks of the tears on his cheeks.

His outline is watery through the tears in Renjun’s eyes, but as he continues to play Renjun can see him begin to glow gold. His music shines through the hall like a ray of sunshine after a long storm, pockets of sound floating down around them all. Renjun holds in a gasp as the notes pierce straight through to his heart, and he settles back, his eyes closing, to allow Jeno’s music to carry him away on a steam of golden sunlight.

After the competition is over, Renjun rushes into Jeno’s arms in the lobby, gushing over his performance. Jeno smiles, his eyes crinkling up into crescents, and Renjun’s doomed heart melts.

“How did you do that?” He says, breathless with wonder. “How were you able to just keep going? I’ve never heard you play so beautifully before!” 

“I just thought of someone special.” Renjun’s pathetic heart flares with hope, but then Jeno’s eye smile fades for just a moment, gazing through Renjun like he’s invisible, and Renjun knows the answer before it’s said. 

“Jaemin once told me that music is freedom. I understand what he meant, now.” Jeno’s eyes are far away, and Renjun just sighs. A moment later, Jeno’s smiling again, and he wraps his arms around Renjun.

“Thank you for coming, Junnie,” he says. “You’re my best friend.”

“Anytime, Jeno.” Renjun thinks he should probably feel guilty for how his heart sinks at the words. 

❀

It’s evening, and they’re walking home from school when Jaemin stops at the bridge over the river, the same question from before on his lips. He’s only been out of the hospital for a week, and the place has left a mark on him in the new pallor of his skin and the bags sunk deep under his eyes.

The fireflies hang in the air and Jeno can sense that there’s something that Jaemin isn’t saying. The lights flicker and Jaemin sighs, leaning forward until he’s leaning out over the river, his violin case hitting the metal bars.

“It would make me happy if you played with me one last time,” he says, and he smiles. A firefly floats by and his eyes light up as he turns to Jeno. “I feel like our music is beautiful, but it could be so much more so together.”

“I don’t play,” Jeno says, and it’s a reaction, an instinct. “I tried, and I can’t.”

“You could,” Jaemin says, and he turns to Jeno, eyes open and pleading. “Renjun said you were beautiful. Please, play with me. Stand beside me on the stage again, and let’s give our best performance this time.”

Jeno shakes his head, turning away to watch the river flowing by, away and into eternity. For a moment he lets himself be carried away, but then Jaemin sighs, and Jeno is back on the bridge, the sunset glowing, and the fireflies alight with hope and wonder, the whispering memory of Jaemin’s playing floating across the night air to Jeno’s ears. Jaemin faces him head on, full of honest desire. The reeds sway below them and Jeno watches Jaemin, his heart stuttering in his chest. 

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, and his voice is quiet, cracking on the words. “I can’t play with you again.”

“Oh, Jeno,” Jaemin says, and the light of the fireflies swirls within his eyes. Jeno can see his wishing, and though the wishing is tinged with desperation and a sense of loss, Jaemin doesn’t beg. He stands straight, with dignity, his violin held in his hands. “Not even for a dying man?”

❀

So they practice. They practice for hours and hours until Jaemin’s hand cramps from holding the bow and Jeno’s fingers ache from slamming down on the keys. They practice from the moment school ends to the moment the sun sets, Jeno trying again and again to recapture that split second of clarity that he was afforded that day at the piano competition to no avail. 

With every day his frustration grows, finding root in the furrow of his brow and nourishment in his beads of sweat. Every day as Jaemin pulls the bow along the strings, Jeno’s heart is filled with joy, a desire to let his music dance through the air with Jaemin’s, but his hands are stiff and the notes do not want to come.

One afternoon as the sun begins to slip below the horizon, Jaemin brings him to the stage. The doors clang open, the sound echoing in the silence of the hall. They walk down the aisles in the dark, the empty seats like shadowy sentinels, their footsteps muffled by the carpet in the aisles. 

They get to the stage, and Jaemin’s heels click on the concrete steps and then the wood of stage itself as Jeno follows, his footsteps quiet and tentative in comparison to Jaemin’s confident strides. Jaemin moves backstage and flips a switch, light flooding the hall.

Jeno blinks and hesitantly moves to sit on the stage, his legs dangling over the edge. He leans back on his hands as his eyes sweep the hall, involuntarily drawn upwards to the seat his mother used to always sit in. He can almost see her there now, a phantom glowing soft grey, the ghost of a smile on her face, eerily growing wider as he watches. Jaemin settles beside him, his violin case beside him, and Jeno jumps and turns to him for a split second.

He looks back up at the seat. His mother is gone.

“Let’s try playing here,” Jaemin says, and his voice echoes strangely in the emptiness. He sighs and Jeno tries not to think about the fact that Jaemin’s wasting precious air. He can hear his own heart pumping in his ears from Jaemin’s proximity and tries not to think about how Jaemin’s heart is giving up on him. 

“Jeno.” Jeno turns to look in his eyes, and there’s an understanding there. Jaemin’s hand inches towards Jeno’s own, but at the last moment he turns away, his fingers curling in towards his palm. Instead, he angles his body towards Jeno and smiles, and no matter how hard Jeno searches, there’s nothing macabre about it, no darkness lingering beneath the surface. “You can ask me.”

His mother’s smile floats to the back of his mind, wide and desperate and oh so fragile, and Jeno struggles to reconcile Jaemin’s sincere smile with that of a dying person’s. 

“How can you pretend like everything is fine?” Jeno can’t hold it in any longer, the words shooting from his mouth like bullets, but Jaemin just keeps smiling. 

“It’s okay, Jeno,” Jaemin says. “I’ve accepted that this spring is my last. I have one last dream of performing by your side, and then I’m ready to move on.”

Jeno’s head aches and he can feel hot tears spring up behind his eyes. The pressure mounts, but he tries his best not to cry, holding the tears back with everything he can. “So what, you’re giving up?”

“We all leave life eventually, Jeno,” Jaemin says gently. “I’m just going a little earlier than most, and I think that’s okay. This story isn’t really mine.”

“It’s _not_,” Jeno insists, and he can’t stop the tears from spilling over. He wipes the tears away desperately, but they fall too fast for him to catch. He sniffles, and it’s ugly, his skin turning blotchy as he cries, but still Jaemin doesn’t reach out. “It’s _not okay_, Jaemin. You shouldn’t be a…a side character in my life, in…in Donghyuck’s life.” He stumbles over the words, tears falling faster, his throat beginning to coat itself with salt. “You should…you should get the chance to be the protagonist of your own, the…the love interest in Donghyuck’s, the best friend in…in mine and Renjun’s —” He takes shuddering breaths, but he can’t seem to slow the tears, and he is forced to stop talking, collapsing into a sob. 

Jaemin is still smiling, and finally he lifts his hand to Jeno’s cheek and brushes away some of the tears there. 

“It wasn’t meant to be. Music is freedom, Jeno. I’ll always —” Jaemin sucks in a breath, and Jeno feels his hand shake against his cheek. 

“Jaemin?” Jaemin shrinks backwards, his eyes rolling up in his head as he crumples to the ground, Jeno barely catching his head before it hits the ground with a thud. 

“_Jaemin!_”

❀

The next time Jeno sees Jaemin, he’s playing violin on the hospital roof. The notes are mournful as he pulls on the strings, a soft smile on his face. 

“Jaemin?”

“Jeno?”

He turns and the wind ruffles his hair, the surprise evident on his face. His skin is a beautiful honey against the white of the hospital gown, the wind carrying past them a few of the cherry blossoms that had already started to fall. If not for the IV beside him, the tubes snaking towards him, digging into his arm and refusing to let go, he could be the very same Jaemin that Jeno encountered in the park all those weeks ago. Jaemin’s eyes soften into recognition, and he smiles.

“Jeno, it _is_ you. I’m sorry that I won’t be able to stand beside you on stage.” 

“What are you saying?” Jeno’s voice is soft. 

“They say I have to stay here until…” Jaemin’s voice trails off. He puts down the violin in its case and straightens. The wind whistles around the building and Jaemin swallows, avoiding Jeno’s eyes. “Well. You know until when. So the competition is essentially a no go for me.” 

“Who cares about the damn competition?” Jeno growls, stepping forward and crossing the roof until Jaemin is just barely out of reach. “You may not be able to stand beside me on the stage this time, but there will be a next time, because you’re going to _live_, Jaemin.” He steps forward and puts a hand around the back of Jaemin’s neck and puts his forehead against Jaemin’s and just breathes. Then, quieter, he whispers. “You have to.”

He pulls back, but he keeps his hand around Jaemin’s neck. Jaemin’s eyes are wide, as surprised as Jeno himself is. 

“You said that music is freedom, Jaemin,” Jeno says. “But you’re wrong. Music takes you hostage and drains you of everything you’ve got. It takes hours of playing until your fingers hurt, until your head is spinning with sheet music, until you’ve made every possible mistake so when you get onstage, it’s flawless. It’s steals your time, it steals your sanity, and despite all of that, we both love it, so we keep doing it.”

Jaemin breathes, deep, and draws back. “What are you trying to say?”

“Music is like life, Jaemin,” Jeno breathes. “You have to choose it.”

Jaemin steps backwards, and silence grows between them like a disease. Jaemin’s hair is blown into his face by the wind and he angrily pushes it aside, his eyes flashing with fire.

“I don’t exactly have a choice, Jeno!”

“I know that, Jaemin. Not everyone becomes a good musician. But at least choose to try.” Jaemin eyes him, lips pressed together in a thin line. Jeno sighs, and puts his hands up. “Maybe I’m being selfish, Na Jaemin,” he says. “But I want to stand beside you on the stage, at least one more time.”

Jeno sees Jaemin swallow, and his eyes glance to the side, down to his violin. 

“Alright, Lee Jeno.” Jaemin’s eyes come to meet his again, and there’s renewed determination there, a desperate desire that before, Jaemin had never allowed himself to show. He sticks out a hand. “I’ll try my very best to live, and stand beside you on the stage again.”

Jeno laughs and Jaemin smiles, and their joy is carried away on the springtime breeze as they shake on it. 

❀

The day of the competition, Jeno walks onstage alone to an audience of blank faces. He sits down with purpose. There is only one person who he is playing for now.

He closes his eyes, turning his face upwards to heaven and thinks of a boy like cherry blossoms. 

_Reach him. _

He places his fingers on the keys and begins to play. All at once, the advice of his mother comes back to him. _Don’t abuse the piano, Jeno,_ she had said, a soft smile gracing her features as she gently placed a hand on his shoulder._ Treat it with kindness, and you will receive kindness in return._

And then Jaemin’s voice. _Music is freedom, it can take you to new places, wherever you want to go. _

For now, all Jeno can think of is Na Jaemin’s smiling face, eyes sparkling in the springtime sun, surrounded by the cherry blossoms. He closes his eyes, and the melody picks up speed. It flows through his body like water, his fingers skipping across the keys like a stone thrown by a careful child across the surface of a peaceful lake. 

He opens his eyes, and the audience has vanished, the never-ending sky stretching outwards all around him. The fireflies swirl and Jaemin materializes at Jeno’s side, and he feels his heart sink. But Jaemin smiles at him, and he lifts the violin at his side to his shoulder, and Jeno can almost hear him say,

_I have one last dream of performing by your side, and then I’m ready to move on._

_No_, Jeno thinks, but he continues to play, and Jaemin’s music joins his, the violin’s high notes blending with the piano, carrying the melody to greater heights. Jeno is glad that his hearing is restored, so relieved that he can hear the beauty of their music together, even if it is only this one time. And so they play on, and Jeno loses himself in the beauty of Jaemin’s music.

They reach a part of the music that dances across the page, and though Jeno’s notes are melancholy, restrained, Jaemin plucks the strings and jumps about on light feet, and his joy sweeps Jeno away. The music crescendoes, and Jaemin’s chest opens up, his back straightening as he pulls the bow across the strings in an unrestrained final note. 

As Jaemin lowers the violin, his back to the piano, Jeno’s part continues as the sun sets over the everlasting sky. Jeno blinks and the fireflies are back to take Jaemin away.

“Don’t leave me,” Jeno chokes out, but Jaemin doesn’t turn around. “I know you’re in love with Donghyuck, and I don’t care. Just don’t leave me, Jaemin. _Please_ —” Jeno’s voice breaks on the word, the tears spilling over. When he speaks again his voice is quiet, subdued. 

“Don’t…” He chokes on the salt, forced to swallow his words. He closes his eyes, and when he opens them he tries again, softly, barely speaking, his throat worn ragged with tears. “Don’t go.”

Jaemin turns, the fireflies circling his figure. As always he’s smiling, but for the first time, Jeno sees a single tear fall from his eye, glittering on his cheek like a diamond in the night. But then Jaemin vanishes, the light engulfing him from head to toe, and he dissolves into cherry blossoms.

Jeno blinks and he is alone at the piano in the performance hall playing the final note of what was supposed to be _their_ piece into deafening silence, tears pouring from his eyes.

❀

_Dearest Jeno,_

_I told you a lie once, in April, but I hope you will forgive me for it. _

_I said Donghyuck was pretty in the hallway that day, but really it was you. I think you might have figured that out, though. I’m not too subtle, hm?_

_I saw you once, when I was very young. It was the first time you’d ever played, I think, but god, Lee Jeno, you haven’t changed a bit. Your music was like liquid gold, sunshine on a cloudy day, little bubbles of glowing light that burst in my ears and made me warm from the inside out. I wanted to talk to you the moment I saw you at school for the first time, but I saw how you smiled at Renjun, how he smiled back, and I’m not so selfish as to fight fate. He’s the one for you in this life. After all, who would be so foolish as to push you away? But I was designed to leave early, Jeno, so you understand why I had to lie, don’t you?_

_You know, I began to play violin with the far off dream of performing with that little boy who was made of spun gold and whose music was like new morning. But when I heard you play again, the clouds had come in front of the sun, and you had vanished from the stage forever._

_But when I learned that I wasn’t long for this world, things became quite clear. You know, dying does that to you. The fears that held me back have no hold over me now. My goal may have once been to stand on the stage with you and deliver a performance that would secure both of our futures. But my dream now is to stand on the stage with you and play from the heart._

_Something is holding you back Jeno! I know you won’t let it. Music is the greatest freedom there is. You reminded me of that, and today I know I will be be takinga step to stand beside you on that stage, one way or another. Let’s make it a great last performance before the curtain call, yes? _

_Perhaps I’m being selfish, but I hope you’ll remember me, Jeno. I think I’d like to be remembered, even if it’s just the foolish dream of the living. When you play, as long as it is from the heart, I hope that I’ve left some of myself in the music._

_Bon voyage on your journey through life, Lee Jeno! If you’re reading this, I’ve taken a shortcut to the end. I’ll see you on the other side! I hope you have a wonderful trip._

_ All my love,_

_ Na Jaemin_

**Author's Note:**

> Hi. Wow. 
> 
> If you got this far, thank you a million times over. This work means a lot to me, as it's a pretty dramatic tone shift from everything I've written in the past. It only took about three speedwrites, tons of encouragement from all my writer friends, and a few sleepless nights to finish. 
> 
> I want to say before I go that I love all of these boys, and it physically pained me to kill off Jaemin, make Renjun feel left out, force Jeno to have such a hard time with the thing he loves most, and let Donghyuck have to witness all of that mess. So personal apologies to all of them. 
> 
> I'd love any kudos or comments you're willing to give, and I'll see you all next time with another fic! Feel free to follow me on twitter @r0binisms until then! 
> 
> Lots of love,  
Robin <3


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